
Boole , M 14-fe 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



JOHlsr McGOVEEN'S 
POEMS 



/ 


JOHN 


M 


cGOVERX'S 




POEMS 


ii 


* 




WILLIAM S. LOKD 




EVANSTON 




1902 



*THE LIBRARY 0F| 

CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

lUN, 3 1902 

COPVRIQHT ENTBY 

CLASS ^XXa No. 
COPY B. 






copyright. 1903, bt 
John McGovbrn 



TnOGIUFET BY 
lUSBB, AITEXS tt ODBTIB COMPART, OBIOAaO 






(4 



TO 

MY BELOVED WIFE, 

A HASTENING FRIEND, WHEN EVEN 

NOBLE DUTY MIGHT HAVE 

COME WITH STATELY 

STEP 



CONTENTS 

PAGB 

The Kine 9 

Genius 10 

The Trees '". 11 

How Bright Jehovah's Carpet 13 

Priest of the Morxing IS 

I Heard a Lark 14 

Comet of 1882 15 

Sunrise 16 

I Pray 18 

The Poet 19 

Death and My Fellows 21 

To Rubinstein . 22 

Time 23 

A Rhapsody 24 

I Saw a Light 26 

Hate 27 

Irkoutsk to San Francisco 2& 

Fanny Driscoll 30 

A Leaf 31 

Memory 32 

To H. G. C 33 

Suggestions for a Napoleonic Drama . . 34 

The Saint Ignatius 37 

A Tragedy of State 41 

Pastoral 45 

7 



JOHN McGOVERN'S POEMS 



THE KINE 

SWEET - BREATHING kine looked up from 
clover-mead, 
And night had come. Therefore they kneeled them 

down, 
And soon the field was freshened, and perfume 
Distilled for morn. With eyes as deep as heaven, 
And peaceful as the evening, gazed the flock 
Upon the skies; and in those eyes benign 
All night on went the starry flight eternal. 
O wisdom of that wider view ! They saw, 
And were not envious. They knew enough 
When they did know that Dawn would light their 

meadow. 

The sun came o'er a corner of the earth 

Far to the north. Soft cooed the prairie-hens,. 

And yellow-breasted meadow-larks took wing 

To chide their great dumb friends. Beshuddering' 

Their glossy coats, the kine arose, and lo ! 

(Hast ever seen a stretch of clover-bloom?) 

The firmament had fallen to the field ! 

They from Orion to the Dragon roamed 
And plucked that morn a thousand dewy stars. 

9 



GENIUS 

IT IS the fire beneath some night-fly's wing, 
Making a star out of the risen worm. 



10 



THE TREES 

THE Sun came onward, scourging all the stars 
Out of his temple. Maples, oaks, and elms 
Stood foiled in gold, and sheltered timid airs 
That scarcely moved from fear of March the Lion 
Sleeping hard by. Thus passed a day of summer 
Truant out of June, its wandering hours 
Delighting Winter, calling heaven down, 
And luring birds to love-songs. 

Blear, unkempt. 
The waking Lion roared ; the pale North Wind 
Sped from his realm. All terrified, the trees 
Made lowly genuflections through the night. 
Confessed their sin, and moaned for clemency ; 
Yet when their friend, the poet, came to them. 
He found long rows of woody penitents 
Dressed with disgrace — in convict garb of snow — 
And wailing. '*I myself am hurt," he said. 
"So, if ye grieve, my barer woes may speak, 
For ye have gnarled circles round your hearts 
Buckler on buckler. Strike your Eolian dirge- 
Song of the sepulchre ! O cruel years ! 
O Friendship's welcome turned to Venom's coil!— 
O youth's ambition grown to manhood's greed !— 

spring of hope, and pale North Wind of Death ! 
Yea, weep, you maples, oaks and elms!" he cried; 
"Ye are my better tongue, ye are my wo; 

1 saw your icy lord, I heard your prayers, 

I know your sentence — sound our misery!" 

11 



HOW BRIGHT JEHOVAH'S CARPET 

HOW bright Jehovah's carpet! Splendid Hour 
Complete with glory — ^all thy 
Milky Way 
Pulsing eternity ! Man upward looks ; 
He looks, and upward aims ; and calm-eyed beasts 
That sleep not, have thy golden deep for dreams ! 
Lo, I, most miserable of the flesh, 
Proclaim within me throbbings of the light 
From yonder stars. For I have something star-like 
Jealously sentineled, and leashed with heart-strings, 
Which, when the heavens throw their portals wide, 
To pay thee, Night, their ceremonial, 
Peers forth on each familiar galaxy. 
As if those beacons burned for its return. 
And as I lay my head at rest, each eve, 
Thy oft-recurring mandate to obey, 
O Night, I feel my prisoner more glad, 
More confident of his release. Alas ! 
Why breaks my soul so quickly from my keep? 
Why yearns, alas! my body for my soul? 
Alas! why does my quivering form belie 
Its wretched doom when I upsend my eyes ! 
O Night ! forgive my bodily delight ! 
Forgive my body's envy of my soul ! 
Make my poor flesh and blood like calm-eyed beast's, 
And let me have thy golden deep for dreams. 

12 



PRIEST OF THE MORNING 

THE morning twilight surges through the dome— 
The dawn awaits. So has my soul sat still, 
And, like this day, full late the beam of peace 
Has come from haunts deep in the Eastern stars. 
Fierce writhes and coils the Night, and westward 

rolls 
A. mass of darkness and despair, a load 
To weight a Universe, put on a world ! 
O lifel O God! O sea of orient sky! 
There is with me an end of soughing waves!— 
An end of casting anchors in mid-sea!— 
An end of chart without a firmament! 
Now Morn uplifts this sinister pavilion ; 
Now valiant Hope rebukes my soul's confusion; 
Now Joy stands at the gateways of my heart 
Guiding the flood. O Sun in hidden heaven! 
Whose gold is liveried on thy couriers 
The utmost clouds— whose coming carpets Earth 
Beauteous with life— whose coming tunes the woods 
With warblers' sweet devotions— to my voice, 
My ruder song, give rapid messengers— 
The invisible acolytes of thy golden fane— 
To wing it to yon pillar in the air, 
Thy morning altar lit with silvery fires! 

Accept my offering; pour thy earliest gold 
Out on thy pitiful, who then shall be 
All holy-dipped, emerged from Paradise— 
A glorious slave, thy shining worshiper! 

13 



I HEARD A LARK 

I HEARD a lark amid the morning clouds 
That wrapt his flight of song. As if that lark, 
Seer of the dawn, rose on prophetic wing, 
The sun now gorged the canyons of the sky, 
And, all the barriers of the zenith breaking, 
On happy Earth there flowed a shining ocean. 

With £his thing seeing, I, poor wonderling, 
Made half of saddened sunlight, raised mine eyes, 
Cast off my baser part, and grew eternal. 

Lark of the earth, thy song shall still go on 

When mocking blasts bestrow thy tiny plumes. 

E'en now thy notes of earlier spring may be 

Well out upon an awful pilgrimage. 

Where dumb, despised, unshapen worlds go by, 

And all is dark forever. Yea, although 

The hand of Cruelty might scarcely feel 

Thy heart-beats in its grasp, not less thy cry 

May probe eternity, to leave behind 

Faith's low petition and Doubt's loud harangue. 



14 



COMET OF 1882 

BRIDE of the morning star, hath not my soul 
Enough of envy in these nightly hosts? 
Coms't thou to wake our spirits from their sleep 
Of dumb, dull discontent? Bright apparition, fade, 
O fade not from my clinging eyes ! Take me— 
Take that of me thou wilt— from off this orb 
Where Sin and Death are prisoned; let me join 
Thy splendid train, and aid, in dawning skies. 
Those happier stars that bear thy shining veil. 



15 



SUNRISE 

SWIFT Michigan, full-rigged with white cap sail, 
Crowded to port her squadrons infinite, 
Beneath a sky where Nature's dye was mixing 
For maidens' morning blushes. Flying swallows 
Surveyed the province ceded o'er to Dawn, 
And called their links and chains in upper air 
With iteration unmelodious. 

Along the shore where envious waves peeped over, 
A play-yard stretched for miles, and iron monsters, 
Unyoked from toils and journeyings gigantic, 
Shouted harsh-sounding joy. Tall shadow dancers 
Woke into yachts, yet gaily reveled on. 
While steamers cheerless as the eye of Greed, 
And swoln with avarice, stole round the pier. 
And put the waves to flight. The amethyst 
And velvet air — where Night the Jeweler 
Had spread bright riches brought from regions far — 
On ruddier ether rose — as gently rose 
As moves the sentried heart through dreams that 

look 
On scenes where all goes well. The lighthouse flash 
That in the darkness oft had bridged the waves 
With shining girders, flickered like a wick 
Fal'n in the oil. As in swift-plowing ship 
The venturous voyager, filled with low throbs 
And vessel-motions multitudinous. 
Peers toward the furnaces that shore his seas — 
So toward the east, deep in the firmament 
Forthcoming with the morning star, the eye 

16 



Peered to espy the heavenly enginery 

That wheeled black-shrouded earth to shores of day. 

Now all but man was ready. All but he 
With little patience — quivering — beheld 
This eastern panoply. In highest flight, 
Where golden wings awaited, eager birds. 
Like sailor on the mast, from tiny throats 
Proclaimed the coming ; bright on every spire 
Shone confirmation. Rapt in fume and flame 
The iron chargers, oft-defeated, looked 
Upon their vanquisher. Out on the pier 
From full six hundred thousand slumberers, 
A dozen fishermen with dumb thoughts filled 
And cast their lines again. The harbor-lamp 
Grew thin and yellow, as it had been shut 
Within a book for years. The yachts their dance 
Pushed to a close, and Nature, thus prepared. 
Glowed proudly on Lake Michigan, that then 
Most splendidly returned her warmest smile. 

Up rose the Sun all haired with living fires. 



17 



I PRAY 

WHEN white-eyed Death shall fright my timid 
flesh, 
And chase my spirit from his habitation, 
May willing yet unwilling hands take me 
To unoffended Nature. Then, O God ! 
Give me the memory of an honest man, 
And unseen flowers shall keep my grave as sweet 
As lilac-banks that make one narrow week 
The only recollection of a year. 



18 



THE POET 
I 

HE SITS before a great keyed instrument, 
The human heart— built like some Alpine mill 
To wheel its echoes to the joyous heights 
Or urge them through the gloom. And as he sits 
O'er all the jarrings of the rough red rill 
That plunges down to Death, he strikes a chord, 
And Love reverberates. Pleased with his craft, 
He, holding all his keys, with quivering hands, 
Joins on Affection's softenmg part, and plies 
Sad Duty's stops and lowly harmonies. 

Thus flows the psalm of Family and of Home— 
The sweetest measures of the poet's art, 
Yet on his mystic keyboard, oh! how few 
The pipes that play!— how insignificant! 

II 

Then comes the flame, the flaming stride of War,— 
The poet's hearthstone set to head the graves 
Of slaughtered sire and son ! Then breaks the storm 
From forth the angry pipes; then comes the roar 
Of mighty octaves , wild and tempest-tossed. 
With passion-cries of freedom crashed and hurled 
In grievous ruin, like some city's sack 
Of precious wares. Behold yon tyrant's throne 
Set high beyond the hurt of cannon's vn:ath! 
Yet see it quake!— aye ! 'tis an airy thing 
To shore the moving deeps of Liberty ! 

19 



Ill 

The player trembles like his low-blown reeds, 
His hand is weak, the snow drifts through his pipes. 
Where breaks that flood which filled the gorge of life 
With such sweet-sounding waves that voyagers 
Baptized with freshened hearts? — the gloria ! 
Why drowns he not with joyous giant chords 
The murmurs of an unhomed, childless wo? 

Thou heedest not ! The patriarchal ear 
Hears from the strains on High some cadences; 
He holds his touch upon the keys thus light 
That he may join the Choir in unison. 
Behold his aged face (chiseled by Time- 
An evil sculptor, yet a master-hand) ! 
Sublime he smiles and strikes the key of heaven, 
Asking of his still noble house of sound 
But this last anthem. Hark! it swells anew! 
Now breathe in prayer and fall ye on your knees! 
Now lave ye in the holy waves of holy airs! 
The God of Hosts hymns with his wafting worlds- 
Adoring Earth pulsates with Paradise ! 



20 



DEATH AND MY FELLOWS 

I THOUGHT, with selfish thankfulness: "If men 
Were all immortal save myself, how sad, 
How sadly terrible would be my plight ! 
How like the Aztecs' captive I should be — 
A victim for the knife, though loaded down 
With luxuries — if I were hailed each morn 
By brothers of the sun ! And, when I died, 
With what astonishment the golden-aged 
Would look upon my corse! my villain corse! 
That in their company had flashed a gem 
Which had been stolen — property of soul 
Sought by the Officer !" With thinking this, 
I went among my comrades yesterday, 
And offered them ambrosia for their locks. 
And nectar in their cups ! I told them all. 
That god-like ichor made their countenances 
Most pleasurable — their flesh o'er-radiant! 
The world smiled like a narrow-sighted babe 
That sees, yet can but see, its mother's breast, 
And I, poor courtier, sick with giving joy, 
Fled toward my dreams last night in dismal dread 
That death should cast his ashes over me, 
And never-dying beings bear my pall 1 



21 



TO RUBINSTEIN 

On hearing his Ocean Storm portrayed by one hundred and 
seventy musicians. 

THOU shining soul, by Fame bright burning 
kept, 
Is God not angry when the wind is wailing 
Hopeless with dread? And when He bids the storm 
To whip the gamut of each shrieking shroud 
And trumpet thunders — speaks He calmly then? 

If thou, on shore no braver than thyself, 
Canst key the sounding cloud, and at thy will 
Chord all the terrors of the secret deep, 
Then may those greater accents of God's voice 
Be taught to me, if thou interpretest ! 

Before Jehovah's ark mute penitents 

Bent round high priest, and breathing frankincense 

And myrrh and holy oils, revived their souls. 

Thou my high priest shalt be ! Within thy fane 

With formless ceremony, yet in garb 

And ephod of bright genius, thou shalt list 

To my devout and prostrate supplication ; 

Mine shall be thy rites, and thou God's power 

Shalt bring to my blind soul, as I do hear 

Great ocean's heart-beats sound a deep alarm 

Lest God through space should hurl its screaming 

bulk 
Or scatter it for dew on waking worlds. 

23 



TIME 

MAN whitens into death and lays him down 
In dreadful slumber 'neath a roof -like mound 
That sinks soon in upon his dust. A stone 
His name proclaims a little longer, falls, 
And crumbles, having filled an empty use. 
Anon the plow rives up the fattened ground, 
And harvests press like anxious waves. Then war. 
The peaceful plowman flees before a host 
Of conquering invaders come to sack, 
And strip, and pillage. Soon the straggling brush 
Starts into saplings, and the saplings wax 
To solemn woods. Now comes the simple bard, 
And peers with wonder in among the trees 
That weave their colors with the fragrant air, 
And sings: "This is the forest— this must be 
The forest called primeval, and untrod." 
Forward the cycles roll — the ax, the fires. 
The plow, the harvest moons, the grave, the sword, 
The impenetrable councils of the oaks. 
And last some circlings of a corse-like orb— 
Until the world, a worn and fluttering moth. 
Drops in the central conflagration, and expires. 



23 



A RHAPSODY 

Auroral Tumult on the morning of April 17, 1882. 

FORTH from the watches of the night I gaze 
To place the Greater Bear — Help! Help! the 
world ! 
Awake ! ye sleeping hosts, and read the sky ! 

A'^whirlpool snatching at a million streams, 

Sucking the glory of the universe ; 

A cataract that falls where I would rise ; 

An awful flood, on which the stars shine strangely; 

A tide ethereal, all space engulfing. 

As though the current of the Milky Way 

Had overflown — as though the wandering earth 

Passed through the luster of some greater sun 

Whose night was day! Fall down, self-sceptered 

soul! 
Fling off thy garb of state ! Thou art within 
The ante-chambers of the court of Heaven ! 

A tabernacle stanchioned with broad beams 
Of silvery fire, and keyed with frosted stars; 
And at the apex, waving scrolls of flame, 
Doubtless two angels momentarily — 
So that my favored soul should see them there, 
Yet not in holy agony expire. 

24 



Quick from the mystic north the living light 
Clambers the stars, or flows the fitting robes 
Of God's ambassadors; and through the gate 
Thick clouds of glory back and downward plunge, 
As if outbound effulgence suddenly 
Had peered on Sabaoth ! 

OGod! Thouliv'st! 
Thou surely liv'st! I am so near Thee now! 
Open Thy reverent firmament to me ! 
Unshade mine asking eyes !— Protect mine eyes I 



25 



I SAW A LIGHT 

I SAW a Light upreared afar, so pure 
That to my constant gaze it seemed to come 
Half-way to me. With hope born from our prayers, 
We on a night of waters tossed ; yet came 
From other country of an eastern sky 
The fearful pillage of a cold-eyed Dawn, 
That stole our star to gem some new-made night, 
And stationed Horror in our pilot-house. 

I felt a Love so full of charity. 
That to my yearning heart it seemed to come 
Half-way to me. And then, all through a night 
Filled with heart-broken days, I stood the watch 
At misery's masthead, and in break of day 
When Love died out, cried to my heart below 
A dawn of darker night and deeper seas. 

I saw the Truth afar, blazing so bright 
That to my constant gaze it seemed to come 
Half-way to me. All through a night of Life 
I held my helm, until the morn of Death 
Came on the world ; then, as 1 peered. 
Behold! my beacon vanished, and, alas I 
I only saw its ashes eddying 
Above the breakers of Eternity. 



26 



HATE 

itlm ET Merit cease to be!" This was the crime— 

W That Merit lived at all! Could Tie forgive? 
Could he make reparation? Strike him down ! 
And Envy then might breathe again, and Hate 
Accept apology ! So Merit died. 
Yet o'er his grave stood Hate, deep in the night, 
While Courage slept, and on the low-hung clouds 
Hate poured his woe— he had so small relief, 
Though 'neath his feet great Merit lay in peace. 



27 



IRKOUTSK TO SAN FRANCISCO 

On receipt of news from Be Long hy Telegraph, Dec. 21, 1881. 

THE grinding ices of the central sea 
Closed round our mariners. The continents 
Peered past the circle of the Dipper stars 
Through fog and storm — in fear. Then when the 

King 
Of Coldland fell upon these venturers 
He crushed their hardy ship within his hand, 
And cast them freezing toward Siberia. 
They touch the world again, and all the world. 
Pleased like a mother with her babe at breast, 
Trembles with joy. These wonders have we seen 
This white-haired year of this hoar century. 

The papa lisped by kissing babe at night 
Did drift on word-waves from Siberia's plains — 
Did journey west, e'en like this telegraph. 
Full twenty thousand miles, and yet did dwell 
Full twenty thousand years upon the way ! 
How, then, shall simple songster read these signs? 
Are scores of thousand zodiacs a jot 
To point God's periods? Or is a flight 
That jibes at distance, mocks at time, itself 
An essence of the ages, or a soul 
Of dying world? O God ! I can but see. 
Here in my darkness, that our compass spreads 
Within Thy narrowest metes ; I can but give 

28 



For shortest record in Thy chronicles 

The years our dust shall moon yon noble sun ! 

The Aryan, this morning, stretched his hand, 
And, o'er a pathway strewn with centuries, 
Knocked at the Golden Gate ! Such was the act ! 
Yet not more fugitive and brief than man ! 
Nor yet than his abode, this girdled orb! 
A spark of light, sped by the craft of man; 
A flash of years hurled from the hand of God — 
So passes man's short history here on earth — 
So passes earth's short history here in heaven! 



29 



FANNY DRISCOLL 

LIFE woke within her, and her chorded soul 
From harped heaven, breathed fine harmonies 
E'en when Eola passed, at which Eola led 
That way her Sister, whom devout mankind 
Have left unnamed ; straightway the poet's wand 
Built up a temple and a worship lit 
That famed the region. Then the people cried : 
"Behold! a priestess, yea, a prophetess!" 

And as her temple rose, and multitudes 
Surrounded, clamoring, she added then 
A holier rite — where woman at her best 
With warmest heart most glorifies the world. 
Now blazed her altar, and her oracles 
Had life's full meaning ; yet that very blaze 
Warmed into life the python Phthisis, coiled 
Close by the sacred flame. One cruel blow 
That serpent struck, and set the poet's clay: 

As flees Eola when the cloud- wheel stalks 
Red-cored with lightning from Dakota's plain, 
So fled the poet's soul when vorticed Death 
That sweetly censered temple overwhelmed. 

Grim airs of Death, ye leave our fields so bleak 
We have no flowers for our sweet poet's grave! 



30 



A LEAF 

FROM out the topmost bulb— a budding sentry- 
A leaflet spread its green against the blue ; 
The songsters heralded its earthly entry 

And it was christened in the Morning's dew. 

All through the summer, on an oak that towered, 

A stately captain of his lordly kind, 
It fanned the birdlings in their nest embowered, 

Or from their housing turned the churlish wind. 

Then Autumn chanting came, in vestments sober. 
Bearing the cup of dissolution's lees; 

Forth in the majesty of hazed October, 
A withered leaf was hearsed upon the breeze. 



31 



MEMORY 

0UR hopes may lie as cold as love fear-sapped- 
As ripe to be inhumed oblivion- wrapped — 
Yet mournfully we keep them on their biers, 
Palled in the shadows of the gloomy years. 

Deep in our misty woe we hover prone 
Above their corses, and, with bated groan. 
The story of their life and death recite 
Unto our only friend, the poor, blind Night. 

Our wounds are all we have — we love them well; 
Their quickness pleases us — we nurse the spell ; 
Not one of us dare crave, for our distress. 
The clammy keep of blank Forgetfulness. 



82 



TO H. G. C. 

BIRD in these woods ! how drear to me 
The moaning of these woods will be 
When thou dost sing thy morning lay- 
In fairer forests, far away ! 

When ermined Winter scowled on thee, 
A wandering warbler, sad to see — 
Meek was thy mien 'neath his restraint, 
Thy plumes were piteous, not thy plaint. 

But when the Summer came to thee, 
How thou didst swell with melody ! 
Thy song will ever welcome be 
In my sweet-echoing memory. 

Bird in the woods ! how mute will be 
These music-throbbing leaves to me 
When owls of envy, hawks of scorn. 
Hoot through the night, rail at the mom! 



33 



SUGGESTIONS FOR A NAPOLEONIC DRAMA 

I 
NAPOLEON AFTER MURDERING D'ENGHEIN 

I THINK I killed ten thousand men at Friedland. 
I know it made me qualmy of the blood — 
Though I had won my war-legs, and had seen 
Some horrors. "Bravo ! ' ' cried the clods and crowns ; 
"This general fights like Mars! Let's make him 

peace ! 
Let's <}all him master, cousin!" Yet — I clip 
One royal wart from off the public weal, 
That's pinched mankind to penance, like some bean 
Blistering a fool's heel — and these §ame clods 
Shudder like jelly ! Bah! God's wounds! . . . And 

still 
France must not brood on even this one egg 
Of discontent, or I, her stile-brained choice, 
Crowned by her patriarchal pontiff, oiled 
By simpering tongues, will flounder. Too much 

blood 
Flows in her veins. She needs the leech of war ! 
By the raft of Tilsit ! she shall have it ! 

II 
NAPOLEON AFTER WATERLOO 

MY SHIP is past my helm ; I wait the shock 
That breaks my keel. One moment on those 
rocks 
And I, great wreck, shall strow the beach of Time, 

34 



Piling the higher with the ages. There 

Let little conquerors, upon the income 

Haply of their good tide, pick up small fragments 

From my rich voyage, and forge themselves thereby 

Proud salutations ! Ah ye world of midges, 

Little did ye know how with a brand the more 

I could have burned the air free of your corpses ! 



Ill 
THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON 

[The Rock of St. Helena — Napoleon dying — Doctors 
and attendant — A great storm.] 

MAPOLEON. Six years, have knit the broken 
bones of the world. 
Caesar and Alexander, Hannibal, 
I join you. 

Attendant. There's danger in this storm. 

Doctor. I fear it. 

Napoleon. Moscow, Leipsic, Waterloo, 

Cease troubling me ! Ye mar the deeper chant 
Of wars that on a weeping world enthroned me ! 

Attendant. Sire, it is the storm — 'tis nothing but 
the storm ! 

Napoleon. Holy Alliance of the elements, 
Shout o'er my soul ! It was imprisoned before 
An army of small Kings had taught to men 
This use of St. Helena. All your waves 
May scourge this rock, and all oncoming time 
May push its greedy billows ; my great name 
Shall flash, a towering light upon the reef. 
To warn all men against ambition. 

35 



Attendant. Sire ! 

Sire ! renounce ambition : speak to me ! 
Napoleon. Ambition ! ay, it is the coast of Hell ! 

And they who cruise thereby a helm must hold 
Gigantic. O it is sad for the envious 
To come that way ! They sail for cargoes rich 
Their leaking ships to load ; there's greater hope 
For little children begging charity 
Of mouse-faced men ! 
Doctor. His heart-beats quicken ! God ! 

'Tis history! 
Napoleon. Aha! an eagle's beak! 

[Clutching his heart. 
Pluck deep, proud bird ! 'Twill run in your blood ! 

Your chicks 
Will in the storm-cloud build their tabernacle. 

[Falling back. 

1 die — a simple word — a simple thing. 

When Death sits by the great they do not weep 
The world good-by. With smiling face they greet 
Our equal minister. 
[Death dimly revealed as a skeleton, seated on the 
further side of the couch. ] 

Good Pastor, know 
That I sought not this corner of thy parish. 
Giving thee journey. France should set mine urn 
Within our capital — 'twould profit her 
More than her palaces. To eternal rest 
I give my clay ; this old wife Earth will long 
And lovingly prate of the spouse who beat her. 



36 



THE SAINT IGNATIUS 

A SCHOLAR, lightly reading, heard the storm, 
Yet used it for his comfort. Roaring grates 
Mocked at the gale. Through parlor-arches flowed 
Faint airs like summer waves, so peacefully 
That though they sought a well-accustomed ear . 
They seemed to ride some new-discovered sea, 
And passed unknown, to strand amidst perfumes. 

Thus read the scholar: 

"Once upon a time, 
The Etruscan country sounded far the fame 
Of Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, 
And filled with holy fire ; until a fervor 
Seizing on a youth, he sought, and, journeying. 
He found the monk, and in his monastery, 
The Brothers Paul, Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, 
Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary, 
And Pius— holier men than common mortals. 

"With hope of gaining heaven the youth besought 

Those monks that he might join a timid voice 

With their loud adorations. Thus it came 

This worshiper was soon a novice in 

The trade of praising God. He ate the husks 

And chaff of outer form until his soul 

Grew gaunt and meagre. So, one day he spake 

And said unto the saint and brothers nine 



That he should leave them. Then, their under 
eyelids 

Drooping on their cheeks, the friars crossed them- 
selves, 

Spurned him, and, in their wrath, threw ashes on 
him. 

*'So journeyed he unto a mighty town 

Where wealth unmeasured waited him, and years 

Piled up his fame, until no distant land 

Outlaj^ his reputation. All the past — 

As dusk dissolves at dawn — went from his mind. 

But through these times, a war and scandals 

vague 
Had brought our monks to beggars' beggary. 
Therefore it came to pass, one wintry night, 
That as the great man sat in his rich home, 
And Comfort held the citadel, — a storm 
Encamped about, balked but beleaguering — 
There came a knock upon his outside portals, 
Knocking with loud assurance as of kinsmen 
Come to a Christmas feast. Whereat he ordered 
The opening of his massive doors ; and there 
With under-eyelids drooping on their cheeks. 
Stood Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, 
And Brothers Paul, Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, 
Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary. 
And Pius, — ^all the ten, ten times unwelcome." 

Then natural weariness and luxury 
Combined to stop this tale. The scholar's eye 
Roamed past the arches where red firelights, flSpSh- 
ing, 

38 



Jeweled the trappings, or in fairy fabrics 

Arrowed barbaric wounds ; anon his gaze 

Visited a far salon, where tigers glared, 

And shrinking leopards crouched in tawnier wools 

From Anatolia— carpetings that waved 

Like growing grain. On ebbed the harmonies, 

Almost as subtle as the soul — elusive 

E'en as happiness ! 

Lured thus, the scholar 
Sadly remembered him how, like the novice. 
He in his boyhood worshiped where a priestess, 
Sitting demurely at her instrument. 
Made him her slave, yet simply played Pique Dame 
And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, 
And William Tell. To him those strains became 
An ecstasy of hope. Anon she swept 
The throbbings of his heart, finding them not 
Delightful to her touch, so that the youth 
Was left by Love to die; but he sprang up. 
And, as he mended his hurt heart, the maid 
Still at her siren keyboard played Pique Dame 
And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, 
And William Tell, which thence, with gradual years, 
Grew sweet once more, and served the requiem 
Of his agony. Soon a maid more fair. 
More happy, and more lovable, he woed 
And wed, while all the years outran each other, 
Bringing him blessings and renown. 

But, wondering 
Why thus the witch Remembrance croned her 
ghosts 

39 



To fright Contentment, up the scholar rose 
And strode adown his parlors. Then the music 
Waking his mind once more, he needed nought 
To tell him why his moments had been saddened. 
A favorite daughter, sitting in an alcove, 
Seeking to please his ear, had played Pique Dame 
And Zampa, Trovatore, Traumerei, 
And William Tell. Thus through his revery 
Had stalked the shades of a forgotten passion — 
Thus opened memory's outer gates, and there, 
With under eyelids drooping on their cheeks, 
Stood Saint Ignatius, Best of Blessed Men, 
And Brothers Paul, Maximilian, Eustace, Luke, 
Marcellus, Simon, Vincent, Hilary, 
And Pius — all the ten, ten times unwelcome. 



40 



A TRAGEDY OF STATE 

THE morn ! — as gray as was the look of death 
Upon my husband's face ! I could have wished 
The morn had never come — yet when I knew 
It stole upon the murder of my son 
I had no patience. Out on such a day ! 
A cancer on all time ! E'en now the slaves 
Behold my boy with executioner's red lust, 
And laugh like grave-dogs. O how I did plead ! 
(When was't — I've slept not! — 'twas the day 

before — 
And God ! to-morrow will be afterward) — 
Ay, yesterday I kneeled before that man, 
And prayed as one should pray to God alone 
To aid my cause ! O Governor ! O hear ! 
My son did lift his hand in blood made hot 
With cursed wine. He did that thing of shame 
In wildest passion. Then let not this law, 
Built in men's wisdom, fall on his young head 
And break me with the stroke!" "Good woman, 

list: 
You think not of the victim slain, a mother 
Visiting his early grave and planting flowers 
With hand by horror palsied!" "O great sir. 
Have mercy ! Would that my poor son had f al'n 
And I passed by the copings of the rich 
To find an humbler grave and shed my tears ! 
That, sir, were grief — but not a devilish grief 
To wreck the human soul. Revolting God ! 

41 



Must I, then, grasp the brush of obloquy 

And mark the headstones of a line of sires 

All pure and honorable? If this blow 

Fall on my head, have I, then, but the woe 

Of that sad mother? Hearken, O great sir ! 

This law was made by men well satisfied 

In life, afar from deadly acts. Would they, 

O sir — would they build up a thing from Hell 

To tear the holy life from out a man? 

Would they come from such sacrifice and set 

This devil's ceremony in its place, 

Among our laws the foremost? Never ! No ! 

And you — who can by one small, written thing, 

Estop this second curse — would you for hire — 

For all the welcome gifts of your high power — 

Go to that den of death and strain the life 

Out of this fellow being? Nay, O nay ! 

Do not therefore, I beg, drive those base hinds 

Who group around my son to eat his flesh 

And earn their bread by toil so damnable!" 

"Good man !" he said, as he had said "Good woman!" 

"Good man, show her the way ! I fear she needs 

Some help to walk ! Good woman, I will act 

As well becomes my duty. If I find 

My pity can have ear, you may take hope!" 

And at the very time, as I did turn, 

He bade a second clerk the case was closed. 

And other matters pressed. 

O breathing life ! 
Hast thou lain coiled within my heart this while 
A deadly snake? Am I a thing of death, 
A living upas, bearing fruit of men 

42 



Who must be tracked and torn by human hounds? 

Upon the green I played with little girls : 

My breath was sweet, my eyes were blue, my hair 

Was such that good old men would stop awhile 

To stroke my head and ask my name. At night 

My mother heard my sins, and found her heart 

Full wide for blessings, teaching me that God 

Had yet a greater love. And, as I grew. 

No warning came. My husband bore me forth 

While lanterned steeple rocked with wedding-bells ; 

And of the love we had we built a home 

Which Death espied. Then went my husband out 

The dreaded journey and my babe sucked salt 

From sorrow's breast ! Mayhap 'twas there the child 

Fed on the sin — ay, let me have the hope : 

That then in agony the murder-draught 

Was filtered. Thus my soul with kinder look 

May leave my wretched body. Thus my son 

With parent ghost may walk beyond this world 

In mien all nobly sad. 

Tlie hour of Death.] My friends, forgive ! 

I soon will be the mother of a corse 

Made by the State. The State thus deals with me. 

And I do ask you, stand without, and watch 

That I may know the earliest approach 

Of that which now awaits. — I am alone! 

A courier:] 

Let not that messenger come near whose words; 

Stand on his ugly face — I'll not have it 

Drinks:] 

How sweet this cup! How kind these murderous 

pains ! 
How quick! — not e'en a tithe so horrible 

43 



As smiles of pity from a Governor. 

Dying:] 

Then this is death ! I had some girlish hope 

There would be light ! 'Tis cold — I have not felt 

Such cold before. 'Tis further than I thought. 

O shades ! if ye be round me, cry aloud ! 

Where waits my son? My son, desert me not ! 



LoFC. 

44 



PASTORAL 



IMMERSED in sunshine, tremulous, intense, 
Lie depths of wheat, and corn, and pasturage; 
And where the acres meet in rivalry, 
A miser-pond evades the Sun-King's tithes, 
Hiding with lily leaves an envied hoard. 
Far off, an oaken family surround 
A giant of hard fibre, who has sat 
At feast with Time himself, and banqueted 
On centuries. There well-fed cattle stand. 
Watching unenviously the outer sky. 
Where cloud-flocks graze upon the sides of heaven. 
Some proud pond Ararat has stayed a plank 
And raised it well aslant ; upon this perch 
A row of turtles bask their checkered backs, 
And view with stolid look the overtures 
Of nodding reeds and fawning marsh-grass nigh. 
The weary wheat-stems stoop like mendicants, 
While alien rye-stalks rear their empty heads. 
The corn — (just o'er a fence where chipmunks 
romp) — 

A green, cockaded host, in phalanx drawn. 
Each soldier armed with many cutlasses — 
Bespeaks the pomp of disciplined array. 
Nor flinches in the fervor of the sun. 

45 



O'er all a storm-portending haze ; from all, 
A heated perfume — clover, wheat, and corn. 

II 

The swan-like clouds that swam with swelling wing 

In tropic, halcyon, horizon seas. 

Have changed to furious cars of war, and drive 

To offer scowling battle with the sun. 

High o'er Andean lines of clouds there looms 

A solemn Chimborazo of the sky. 

And from its avalanching sides flash forth 

The spears of hosts in heavenly ambuscade. 

The black clouds upward clamber, and the mount 
Attains new height, till now, as Titans mad 
Pile other mountains on too recklessly. 
The upper fabric topples — yet, indeed, 
Some nightmare compromise with gravity 
Leaves Earth uncrushed. 

Anon, a horrid sight 
Hovers on high : The flapping storm-cloud seems 
A mighty vampire come to suck the world. 

Hotly the archers pour their golden darts 
From parapets of light and battlements 
With glory blazing — dreadlessly and dire 
Not less, their hideous enemy assaults 
The splendid citadel — alas ! how soon 
Beleaguered Day is fallen prisoner ! 

Now dirgeless shadows in long pageant come. 
Of gloom the celebrants, death-angel-like ; 
And as their progress blackens field and pond 

46 



The turtles scramble down in clumsy haste, 

And loyal cornstalks on the distant hill 

Wave goodbys simward with bright oriflammes. 

Down through an air come up from nether earth. 
Forth from the turmoil of inverted seas, 
A fiery force with crash on crash is hurled, 
Thrilling all things as if the startled earth 
Rocked in volcanic violence. This signal made, 
The volleys of the pirate squadrons pound 
Hard on the haughty corn, the modest wheat, 
And on the lily leaves like musketry 
Rattle their crystal bullets. Gusts of air 
Chase nimble swirls of rain ; through yeasty mists 
A million worlds join to the universe, 
And shackles of white lightning manacle 
The trembling sky. Heaven is an idol-house, 
Thick with abominations, and its walls, 
Its lurid walls, are darkened with the shapes 
Of pagan elements in revelry. 

in 

The storm recedes, the sun shines out, the clouds, 
Like fallen fortresses, their portals ope 
Before the flight of earthward-hurrying beams— 
And lo ! the couriers with their victory ! 
The music of the herd comes o'er the mead 
In homely cow-bell tones, as rude to-day 
As in Pan's time. The clover-synod kneels— 
Each tiny bishop's mitre lit with gems— 
And silken rustles fill the aisles of corn, 
As though the wives of modern Pharisees 
Passed to their public prayer. Behind a gorge 

47 



Of ether icebergs, Hope, at azure loom, 

In warp of sunrays with a woof of rain, 

Arches her rainbow web upon the black 

That curtains all the east, where crowds the storm. 

Greenfield Township 

La Grange County, Indiana, 1861. 



JU^^4-l^02 



1 COPY DEL. TOCAT.DIV. 
jyN. 4 1902 



iO 



■ic 



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